People with summer birthdays and August birthdays in particular are inevitably asked the same dumb questions. Because we are on the cusp of the school year, our parents can make the decision whether or not to send us to kindergarten at five and be on the young side, or six and rule the pack. (My parents selected the former, most likely because they were sick of me sitting around the house after pre-school watching Mary Tyler Moore\ re-runs and eating baked potatoes.)
When birthdays came up, especially during elementary and middle school, I was frequently asked if I had skipped a grade. But in college the question I field the most is, ""Aren't you excited to turn 21?"" Hard to wait for? Sure, but I have a hard time waiting for Hot Pockets to come out of the microwave. I'd like to think I've been passing the time pretty well while waiting for this milestone birthday.
The first few years went by pretty quickly. Learning how to walk and talk kind of kept me preoccupied. I had no desire for chocolate martinis while I lay awake in my crib, laughing hysterically at the suns and moons on my mobile. (Who knew celestial bodies could be so hilarious?)
But as I got older, I felt like I was missing out on something. I wanted to act crazy, or at least get dizzy. Cocktails of Ecto-Cooler and Sour Patch Kids weren't cutting it anymore. Around my senior year of high school, I got fed up and went off the deep end, or as far as one shot of vodka and half a bottle of orange juice can take a 16-year-old. From that moment on, I couldn't wait to be 21. This year has been especially difficult as I am forced to watch friend after friend hit the magic number or find a reasonable fake.
But just this week I had an epiphany. While being a 20-year-old college junior is enough to drive anyone bananas, I have decided to make the best of it. I'll never be this young again, so I'm celebrating. What hurry am I in to get old anyway? We've all had access to free-flowing booze since we came to college. Being 21 just means I have to pay more for it and buy it for other people. Maybe this is one responsibility I don't really want.
Plus with 21 comes my senior year, which entails the end of college and working a full-time job. If I have my own job, I will probably have to find a new place to live and a mode of transport. All of this equates to forking over more money and more responsibility. Yikes! Frankly, I am coming to realize turning 21 is kind of a raw deal. The drinking age is set there because people with this many things to take care of need a way to drown their sorrows and remember the good old days.
I've made a firm decision; I'm not going to turn 21. Call it ""Peter Pan Syndrome,"" call it crazy or call it more room at F.A.C. for you, but I'm just going to ride out 20 for a while. I'm enjoying this relatively carefree lifestyle and don't really feel like giving it up over a few shots of tequila in a dirty booth. I'm already accustomed to being the last to do things, let's take this August birthday thing to the next level.
Want to help Erin celebrate her 20th birthday again? E-mail her at erincanty8285@hotmail.com.\
